


Like Rick

by Adiaphory



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bad Touch Trio, M/M, No Spoilers, Pranks, Romano is a fanboy, Romano is pissed, headcanon that Romano loves The Walking Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-05 23:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5394281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adiaphory/pseuds/Adiaphory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romano is a hardcore The Walking Dead fan and Spain wants some revenge for being rudely awakened. What Spain didn't account for was the wrath of an Italian when his show is interrupted!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Rick

Spain waved his hand around, signaling his friends to approach with caution. Slowly the three of them—Spain, Prussia, and France—rounded the corner of the doorway and crept into the living room. They ducked behind the couch, holding their breath.

It was Sunday night, which as Spain learned early on, was an immensely sacred time. Each Sunday morning Romano—his precious, sweet Romano—would leave early in the morning to attend church. Then he would return home before noon and be irate as ever since he had to get up so early and never learned to just go to bed earlier on Saturdays.

So Romano would angrily storm back to bed where Spain was just waking up (and if he was still asleep he would be woken by the angry Italian jerking the blankets off and growling about being a sinner in a semi-sarcastic tone).

Then, like clockwork for sixteen weeks out of the year, Romano would sit in the living room with pizza and wine and his softest throw blanket wrapped around his legs. He would sit there for the solid hour of airtime, refusing to move unless a commercial break came on and he absolutely needed something (which he _ran_ to).

Prussia had to withhold a giggle when he saw the brunette on the couch flinch at a jump scare, the curl on his head wrinkling. France elbowed him in the ribs and placed a finger to his lips.

Spain almost felt guilty for this… until he remembered that Romano was particularly pissed that morning returning home from church. Romano didn’t get much sleep the night before for… reasons… sexy reasons… and was falling asleep during the service. If Romano hated anything in the world, it was the judgmental old women who sat in his row and always gave dirty looks to anyone even blinking during the service.

Romano’s small surprised gasps when he jerked awake earned him plenty of those little looks and tongue clicking.

Romano despised those women.

_Fuck Bea. You bitch._

Of course, this meant Spain had a rude awakening an hour later when Romano was home. Having your boyfriend read his own versions of hymns loudly while he blared random Christian Radio was not fun. Not at all.

_“Now, Lord, you let your servant go in peace: (fuck Bea),_  
_your word has been fulfilled. (What a bitch.)_  
_My own eyes have seen the salvation (I want to curb stomp her until she’s pretty),_  
_which you have prepared in the sight of every people;_  
_A light to reveal you to the nations (ME! FUCK YOU, BEA)_  
_and the glory of your people Israel.”_

Spain turned his head to his accomplices and gave a slow nod, mouthing “ _Wait_.” The TV screen was dim, showing flashes of color occasionally for fire and gunshots and the classic jump scare. The music got higher and faster and Romano leaned forward a bit, clutching his blanket around him tightly, slouching his shoulders and switching one hand to almost cover his eyes.

This was it. This is the moment they had been training for for… almost five minutes! Spain slowly rose up from his crouching position. Prussia and France followed suit. They moved silently, their minute noises covered by the booming sound bar under the TV screen. They could feel the bass in the floor. The _floor_.

Romano’s eyes were wide, hitting every pixel on the screen and, as the music sped up, he scrunched them to slits and peaked out from his raised hand. The high noises of the violins went faster and faster and Romano began to squeal, “No, Rick, DON’T YOU FUCKING OPEN THAT DOOR. Rick, I swear to god!”

Prussia bit his hand. This was too funny.

The three friends reformed their pose, arms raising higher, hands poised with fingers spread apart. They carefully loomed over the couch, Romano too caught up in the show to notice. Then, as Rick opened the door and peered into the darkness—

They grabbed Romano around the shoulders and made sudden, loud groans. The victim screeched so loud that France swore he popped an eardrum. Romano had jumped out of their arms and stumbled to the floor, blanket wrapped around his legs and causing him to crash into the coffee table.

That curl on his head was bent in so many directions it looked more like a star than its usual semi-circle. He sat there, in his pile of confusion, clutching one hand to his heart and another on the table. Amazingly enough his eyes remained locked on the TV.

Rick was safe. Now the commercial break.

The three friends were laughing hysterically by this point. Maybe it was the tears in their eyes that prevented them from seeing the enraged Italian standing shakily and turning to face them.

“What was our one rule, Spain?” He asked in an eerily calm voice.

A shiver shot through all three soon-to-be murder victims. This wasn’t good. Romano was past rage.

“Spain.” He called in the same flat voice.

For the first time in his life Spain had lost his voice. He squeaked and coughed a bit before finally replying, “N-no interrupting _The Walking Dead_.”

“Very good. And, tell me, what did you jackasses do?”

The three were suddenly freezing. “Interrupted.”

“Very good, I’m so proud of you now that your basic comprehension skills are back!” The sickeningly sweet tone was a sound no man had heard from Romano before that day.

“Now, baby,” he cooed. Oh _shit_. “I’m going to give you boys until my show is over to get the fuck out of this house. Because, oh boy, I’m going to go all _Rick Grimes_ on all of your asses if I see any of you while I’m this pissed.” He paused. “You better hope I’m only _Season One Rick._ If I’m _Season Four Rick_ you are **fucked**.”

They had never ran that fast in their lives. Some say Prussia’s sprained ankle from the escape was actually _shattered_ but he was too afraid to stop running until he was safe and in Northern Italy.

Spain wasn’t in the clear, however. He needed to make it up to Romano and fast. When he had returned home it was almost midnight and Romano was already in their bed, though not yet asleep.

His green eyes flickered up from his book when he heard Spain enter the room.

“How mad are you?” Spain asked cautiously, not yet moved from the door.

“Now that those morons are gone? Seven,” his eyes narrowed.

Now or never. “Well, mi amor, get ready to be back down to your usual four!” He inched to the bed, setting down the paper bag he had returned with. He carefully laid out everything he bought that night: a bottle of wine, a container of pasta from North Italy, a few candles scented like vanilla and lilac, and—

“…what is that?”

On the bed with all the goodies were a few papers, one looking like a ticket. Was that a plane ticket?

“This, Romano, will make you the happiest Italian on earth.” He lifted the ticket, clearly for a first class trip to America. Then he pointed to the printed paper under it. “These are tickets.”

“What for?”

“A plane trip to America—” Romano groaned. “—and a ticket to a certain horror convention starring a certain cast of a certain show.”

Romano’s eyes widened. He snatched up the sheet, eyeing it intensely. “What? But how? Why? _OhmygodIloveyou_.”

Spain’s eyes twinkled. “Back to four?”

“Negative forty. YOU GOT ME TICKETS TO MEET RICK AND DARYL AND GLENN?”

Romano was so cute when he was blushing and trying not to cry. It was unexpected (but not unwelcome) when he reached out and hugged Spain tightly, burrowing his head into his shoulder. Soon all the goodies were strewn across the floor (the tickets set aside on the night stand). Romano was so overjoyed that he was actually cuddling up with Spain under the covers, nuzzling his head into Spain’s chest while Spain wrapped his arm around the Italian’s waist.

Tonight ended perfectly despite the bad start. Romano almost wanted Spain to do this again… by which he means grovel to him after being an idiot.

“Wait… Did you say you loved me?!”

_“Goodnight, Spain.”_


End file.
